Page 48 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

FORTY-SIX

Nobody gets to choose how they come into this world, but some of us are lucky enough to have a say in how we go out. Now that I knew the clock was ticking, I wanted to exit on my own terms.

I’ve seen people document their final days by sharing their journey on social media, garnering thousands of likes, retweets, and sad-faced emojis on their way out. That’s not my style.

I’d become a public figure, but I had no desire to be in the limelight surrounded by hundreds of well-wishers. I wanted to die in the dignified quiet and comfort of my home, with a small circle of close friends and family watching me set sail.

But I knew I’d need a rock-solid support group along the way. Telling Johnny had been cathartic. For the next few days, he was my lifeline, helping me wrestle with questions like, “I want to leave each of my kids a letter like my mother left me and Lizzie. How honest can I be?”

His answer was brilliant. “Pretend you’re making your closing argument to a jury. Only tell them the things that will get you the verdict you’re looking for.”

The most burning question over the next few days was how to break the news to Lizzie. Johnny had the simple solution for that one too.

Her flight arrived at JFK at 1:40 p.m. Thursday afternoon. That morning, at Johnny’s suggestion, I called her car service, canceled the pickup, and was waiting for her at Terminal 5 when she cleared customs.

“What are you doing here?” she said, giving me a quick sister-hug and handing me one of her bags.

“Today is National Welcome Your Sister Back to America Day,” I said.

“Never heard of it.”

“I’m a powerful mayor. I decreed it. But don’t think it’s because I love hanging with you. I just couldn’t wait to hear every single thing I missed out on by not being with Grandpa and Dad in Donegal.”

The ride home was joyful, and I couldn’t help thinking back to our last picnic at Magic Pond with Mom. These would be the few hours of calm before the bomb dropped.

“So, tell me the best thing that happened on the trip,” I said as we headed north on I-678.

“I met this real hot orthopedic surgeon at the medical conference. Her name is Olivia. She’s from Toronto. She’d been married, had a three-year-old son, caught her husband cheating, ditched him, and ultimately decided that life was more fulfilling if she played for the other team.”

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Ancient,” Lizzie said. “Your age.”

“Is this the real deal?”

“Who knows? But it’s promising enough that I opened a frequent flier account with Air Canada.”

As soon as we got to Lizzie’s house, she opened a bottle of wine. “I haven’t talked to you in days,” she said as we headed for the living room. “What have you been up to?”

I’d braced myself for this moment, but I never managed to come up with the right words. So I broke the news in her language. I handed her the lab report Dr. Byrne had given me Monday morning.

She lowered herself to a chair and read it. Twice.

“Why didn’t you call me as soon as you got this?” she said.

“If I thought you had a cure, I’d have called you immediately. But you’re going to go through hell with me. I didn’t want to rob you of these past few happy days.”

“You didn’t owe me that, Mags. I know I’m your sister, but I’m also the idiot doctor who told you you’d be fine. You could have at least called and slapped me with a lawsuit for malpractice.”

She took a third look at the lab report. “Your numbers are off the charts. How do you feel?”

“Fine. I mean, I’ve been a little nauseous lately, but I kind of chalked that up as part of the general gastric distress that comes with being mayor. But for the most part, I don’t feel all that bad.”

“Neither did Mom at first.”

“I know. Dr. Byrne said I have close to the same numbers as she did when she was first diagnosed.”

“I’ll call Dr. Honig at Memorial Sloan Kettering,” Lizzie said. “I’m sure he’ll do me a favor and be willing to see you immediately.”

“Don’t,” I said.

“What are you talking about, Maggie? Honig is at the forefront of research in hematology.”

“I know who he is. He was Mom’s specialist when she tried that last Hail Mary. There was nothing he could do to save her, and there is nothing he can do to save me.”

“And who made you an expert on medical science?” she said.

“Lizzie, how well do you know me? Do you think you’re the only one who’s been keeping up with the latest on this bad-blood shit? It’s like pancreatic cancer. It was a death sentence when Mom had it, and it’s a death sentence now. Early detection is too late. It means nothing.”

“So, you’re just giving up hope?”

“The only thing I’m giving up is chasing miracles. Did you forget about those last few weeks we spent with Mom? What was her biggest regret?”

She pursed her lips, refusing to say out loud what she already knew in her heart and her well-educated medical mind.

“Let me refresh your memory,” I said. “She knew she had a short time left and a lot of things she wanted to do, and she was kicking herself for trading it all away. She let the chemo suck the last bit of life out of her. I’m not going to do that. I knew this day could come, and I have a lot to do before I shuffle off.”

She picked up the bottle of wine and refilled our glasses. “So, are you planning to climb Mount Kilimanjaro or see the Taj Mahal?”

“No. That’s a bucket list. I have a things-to-do list.”

“Like what?”

“First, I want to spend all the time I can living like a normal human being and doing everything I can to enjoy my family while I’m still here.”

Lizzie nodded. “If there’s a ‘first,’ there’s more to the list. What else?”

“I want to find the woman who’s going to take my place.”

“As mayor?”

“No, as Alex’s wife. As Katie and Kevin’s Mom.”

“Are you... are you serious?”

“Yes. I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

“You’re gonna piss away the little time you have left to look for a girlfriend for your husband? Trust me, Maggie—he won’t have any problem. He’ll be surrounded by people willing to help lift him up, not to mention a hospital full of nurses happy to administer sympathy.”

“Oh... you mean like Connie Gilchrist was there for Dad?”

“That was different, Maggie. Dad was a blubbering wreck. Alex is made of much tougher stuff. He deals with life and death every day.”

“Other people’s deaths, Lizzie. But if I die, he’ll revert to that little boy who never got over the fact that his mother left him in a shopping basket and disappeared from his life forever. He’ll put up a steely exterior, but inside he’ll be as devastated as Dad was. The predators like Connie can smell that.”

“Maggie, it’s a noble goal, and I love you for it, but if you die, Alex will grieve, but he’ll move on. You can’t orchestrate what happens after you’re gone.”

“Lizzie, what do you think would have happened to our family if Connie had married Dad and took him for all he was worth?”

“Train wreck,” Lizzie said.

“Right. Dad would have taken the brunt of it, but you and I would have been collateral damage. And we’d still be living with the guilt that we didn’t do for Mom what she couldn’t do for herself.”

“Is Alex on board with all this?”

“No. I haven’t even given him my diagnosis yet. I need a little time to get my head together before I deal with his.”

“Okay, but what happens when you find... sorry, but I’m not calling her the next Mrs. Dunn. What happens when you find her? Do you bring her home one night, and say, ‘Hey, Alex, I’d like you to meet Maggie two-point-oh’?”

“I haven’t worked out the logistics, but I’m hoping to do what Mom did.”

“Oh my God,” Lizzie said. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

The night before Beth married our father, she sat down with the two of us and said, “I just want you to know that I have your mother’s blessing to marry your father.” Our mouths dropped.

“A few months before your mom died, she invited me to lunch. I’d been a widow for two years, and she asked me if I was ready to give it another go. I told her that I was ready for the concept of another relationship, but I couldn’t deal with the thought of going back into the dating scene at the age of forty-two. She said, ‘Maybe I can save you some time. I think you and Finn would be perfect for each other.’

“I was shocked, but intrigued. We talked. I guess technically you might say we conspired, and eventually I promised her I’d find a way to introduce myself, but I would wait at least a year after she was gone.”

“You should have made it a week,” Lizzie said. “Connie Gilchrist swooped in like a hawk on a field mouse.”

“That’s exactly what your mom was afraid of. But...” she said, tapping the modest gold engagement ring with the tiny marquise diamond in the center, “it all worked out in the end.”

“Does Dad know that Mom—” I groped for the word.

“Set him up?” Lizzie said.

Beth laughed. “No. And he can’t. That was part of my promise to your mother. But she never said anything about keeping it a secret from you, and I think that it’s important that you know that when your father and I exchange our vows tomorrow, your mom will be the happiest woman in heaven.”

For the next two glasses of wine, Lizzie and I reminisced about the remarkable Mary Katherine Donahue McCormick—state champion track star, fearless biker chick, devout Catholic, loving wife, devoted mother, and all-around kick-ass human being.

“So,” Lizzie finally said, “have you come up with any candidates? Mom set the bar pretty damn high with Beth.”

“I don’t have anyone yet,” I said. “I was waiting for you to get back. I have a delicate question to ask you.”

“Ask me anything. Nothing is off-limits,” she slurred. She looked at her watch. “It’s only two a.m. in Donegal. The night is young, lassie.”

“Okay. How hot are you for this Canadian doctor, because if you were straight, you’d solve all my problems in a heartbeat.”

She practically spit out her wine laughing. “You’re batshit crazy,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “It runs in my family.”

She leaned over and hugged me. “I love you, Maggie,” she said. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

They were the exact same words she had said to me that unforgettable afternoon with Mom at Magic Pond.